Paraphernalia
by WingsofStrings87
Summary: After visiting the Institute, Sole Survivor Jemma comes to Hancock in search of a vice. F!SS/Hancock pairing. Spoilers for endgame, with slight canon divergence. Please R/R, this is my first fanfiction :)
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bethesda. If I did, you would be able to talk about a lot more emotional things.

One could have called her the Scourge of the Night if they saw her now. Red droplets splattered around her as blood slid from her hair to her armor to the floor. Smears of dirt and guts decorated her face like warpaint.

Hancock was captivated.

She took a step towards him, allowing her hunting rifle to clatter to the floor. "I need a hit," she wheezed.

"Skipping past the small talk now are we Sunshine?" the ghoul teased. She grunted, easing herself down on the couch across from him. "Normally you turn your nose up at my vices, what's up Buttercup?"

She glowered at him. "Just hand me some Jet or Mentats or something and shut up." She paused, noting the concern flickering in his eyes. "Please."

Hancock's black eyes narrowed as he reached into his pocket for the Berry Mentats he had stashed away. Dangling them like he would a chunk of Cram for her dog, he continued the tease. "Not until you spill the beans. What's got you so desperate today that you'd-"

His eyes widened. He'd never seen Jemma move so fast. He caught a glimpse of her switchblade a few seconds too late. She pressed it against his neck as gently as one could with a sharp blade. "I thought I asked you to shut up, please." He released his grip on the box. She climbed off of him and scooped up the drugs hungrily. He continued to eye her as she made her way back to her couch, setting one on her tongue and closing her eyes.

"Jemma," he started.

Still with her eyes closed, she exhaled, almost as if deflating. "Just…give me a minute…please." This time, her please didn't sound so forced; it sounded broken.

"Jemma, the sun's gone out of your eyes. I know I'm not the kind of your band to care as much, but I'm starting to get a little concerned." He watched her closely, trying to pinpoint any injuries, scars, anything to give him a hint as to what was wrong. If he hadn't been so focused, he might have missed the slight shake of her head. "Okay, well then maybe just start with telling me where all this blood came from."

Her chuckle caught him off guard. "The blood of my enemies cleanses my soul," she stated darkly.

She stiffened at his touch, but he didn't remove his hand from her arm. Peeking one eye at the mayor, she sighed. "Preston and I ran into a nest of Super Mutants on our way here."

"Any injuries to report?" Hancock took both her shoulders in his hands gently, still inspecting her exposed skin for any wounds.

"None yet." She paused, before smirking. "Although I can't speak for Preston later. I left him down at Kleo's booth and we both know he's terrible at talking himself out of awkward situations. She may flirt him to death." Hancock even breathed a laugh at that one.

For a moment, they let their chuckles hang in the air. Jemma, not wanting to pull away from the safety of Hancock's arms, held her breath. Maybe, just maybe, she could pause life for a moment and just be happy. She was owed that much, wasn't she?

Hancock was the first to break the spell. "Jemma, sunshine, please, what happened? I've seen you face those muties before, they've never broken you like this." She stiffened at his choice of words. Standing upright, his hands fell away.

"Broken? You think I'm broken? Ha!" She threw her head back. "I am anything but. What was it that bastard called me? 'The most resilient women in the Commonwealth'. I am far from broken, Hancock." Turning away from the ghoul, her blond curls whipping into her vision, she began the short march to his office door.

Hancock growled and flung himself at the door, blocking her exit. Her hand hovered over the switchblade holster at her left hip. "Dammit Jemma, something is wrong and I demand to know what it is!"

"You have no right to demand such thing!" She shrieked at him, her eyes going wild. "You're not like Preston or Nick or hell, even Piper who has thrown everything they have at finding my son! You're the junkie who wanted a travelling buddy to help get his head on straight! We've had our laughs but now real life has begun and by God, you aren't with it!"

His fist slammed backwards into the wooden door, giving it a slight shake. "You think I'm not devoted to you? You think I wouldn't give anything to help you find your son? To help you be happy again? To be whole? Have you not been listening to a word I've said?"

"Then where were you?!" She roared. She took two steps to be nose to nose with her ghoul. Her mayor. Her breathing was forced, heavy, angry. But her chin quivered. "Where were you?" She whispered, giving in to the weak betrayal of her body. Her hands groped for his jacket as her knees refused to hold her up another second. Hancock followed the motion of her body, gracefully holding her against him. He had so many questions for his vault dweller.

"I found him," she choked out, her cheeks suddenly becoming wet with tears. "I found him, John." The mayor jerked slightly at her use of his first name. Glancing down, he could see Jemma shaking as if she had been frozen to her bones yet again.

"You son? You found him?" Hancock repeated dully, unsure of how to respond. Shouldn't she be happy?

She nodded in response, burying her face in his ruffled white shirt. "He's…Kellogg was telling the truth. He really was in the Institute."

"But," Hancock urged. He played at her fingers, trying to encourage Jemma to show her face and finish the story.

"But Kellogg didn't tell me everything. Maybe…maybe he didn't know everything…" she sighed shakily, pushing back from Hancock slightly so she could see his face better. His ghoulish, mottled, beautiful face. "Shaun is…he _is_ the Institute."

Hancock could feel his jaw drop, betraying his orders to remain neutral until the story was over.

"It's been sixty years since they took him," Jemma continued, her eyes dulling until it seemed she was reciting one of her pre-war poems. She pushed herself away completely, staggering to her feet. Hancock followed her up, holding his hands out to steady her, should she need them. "My baby boy was raised by scientists, in the way of logic and progress. They raised love out of him." Bitterness began clouding her voice as she turned away towards the window. She took a deep breath. "I relayed into the Institute using the plans Virgil sketched for me about a week ago. Sturges helped me build it. When I got there, I had my guns out, ready to take out anyone who stood in my way. I was going to get my baby out of there, dammit!" She slammed her fist on the window ledge. "But, there was no one. As I snuck around the abandoned hallways, a man spoke to me over the intercom. He told me he knew I'd be coming, that I was too resourceful to not. He was…happy, I was there. He guided me to where I needed to go, or, I guess, where he wanted me to go. He knew why I was there, for Shaun. And then the door opened and, I thought I had him."

She swallowed the impending sobs deep in her chest. She had to make it through the story. Someone deserved to know the truth. Even if that someone was her drugged-up ghoul. "He stood behind a glass wall, my little Shaun. Ten years old, just like in the memory of Kellogg's. I was desperate, probably played a huge part in his freaking out. But, of course he wouldn't know who I was…he had never known my face. He kept calling out for a "Father", saying I was trying to take him away." She whirled around and glared at Hancock. "Damn right I was!" Her gaze softened, as if remembering where she was and who she was talking to. She turned away again.

"This gray-haired man strode into the room and with a few simple words, my little boy-" she choked on the words, "flopped over like a toy that needed winding." Steadying her breaths, Jemma continued, "he was just a synth. She could hear Hancock's sharp intake of breath behind her. She could guess the look on his face. A small, sad smile overtook her lips. "You can bet I pulled my knife to his throat the same I did to you," she chuckled. "I told him he'd better give me my real son _right now_ or else there were going to be some serious problems." She turned back towards John Hancock and leaned against the window sill, looking up at the ceiling as if mesmerized by a pleasant memory. But as she leveled her gaze back at her companion, her eyes lost the hint of mirth teasing their corners. "That's when he told me. _He_ was really my son. And that's when I saw it…Nate's nose, Nate's lips, my cheekbones. He really is my Shaun. But yet…he's not." She hung her head in defeat. "He was taught to use his brain, but not his heart. He called his father's death, 'an unfortunate bit of collateral damage'," she spit out venomously, as if the words themselves were poison. She shook her head sharply, glancing back at Hancock with her eyes. "He dared to say that, _to my face_. When he'd known since the start that it's only been six months for me! He's had sixty years to live with the decisions of his kidnappers, but I have only had six months!"

She strode towards Hancock, her fists balling at her side. "He let me out!" She screamed. "He let me out of that goddamn cryopod because he wanted to _see what I would do!_ " She punched the wall next to Hancock's shoulder, shrieking in pain from the impact. She fumbled in her pocked with her noninjured hand, shaking off Hancock's concern with the other. Popping another Mentat into her mouth, Jemma's breathing calmed, and she backed away. "I was just another experiment to him, but he keeps trying to tell me how much it means to him that I am there. He wants me to be proud of him. After all these years," Jemma gripped the arm of the couch to steady herself as she could feel her muscles begin to give way again. "After all these years, he still wants his mother to be proud of what he's accomplished, but has no concept that what he's been doing his whole life is so screwed up." She tossed her head back again and laughed harshly. "And if that wasn't enough, to nail my coffin shut, I have spent the last six months of my life chasing after a baby-turned-ten year old-turned sixty year old psychopath who is _dying_ from _cancer_!" She laughs again. "Two hundred and ten years have passed and the most brilliant scientific organization in the world has created synthetic beings who are sentient and identical to humans but can't even be bothered to find the cure for cancer."

This time, she didn't stiffen at Hancock's soft touch. This time, she leaned into his arms, allowing him to embrace her softly. He silently stroked her blond locks as she began to sniffle again.

"John, he wants me to stay with him," she whimpered. "He wants me to join him and run the Institute with him. He's dying, and he wants me to continue his life's work." Hancock pulled her to face him and gripped her tighter. "What do I do?" she sobbed.

"Well sunshine," he began hoarsely, all hopes of emotional neutrality lost, "I say you're the one that's going to have to figure that out for yourself. I can't tell you who to damn to hell." She shuddered into his shirt. "But," he started, his voice regaining some strength, "I do know that you make a hell of a leader no matter where you go, and if you want to stay with your son in the Institute, you're going to do a damn good job." He smiled at her, hoping she wouldn't catch the bitterness he felt in his heart at the very thought of her loyalties.

She continued staring at his feet, gripping his shirt, refusing to make eye contact.

The ghoul reached for her chin with his coarse fingers, urging her gaze to meet his. "And I promise, I will be with you no matter what you choose."

Her bloodshot eyes challenged his pitch black ones, searching for confirmation his pledge was true.

"Can I stay with you tonight?"

He blinked twice, unsure if this was his mental fantasy again or if she actually spoke those words this time. "What?" He asked dumbly.

She gently moved her hands to meet behind his neck, still holding on for dear life. "Please John…I…I don't want to be alone tonight. I can decide who lives or dies tomorrow but, just for tonight, I want to live." She leaned into the crook of his neck. "I know that no matter which side I choose, one of them will retaliate. One of them will die. And it will be my fault. Just for tonight, I want to pretend I don't have the fate of the Commonwealth on my shoulders. Just for tonight, I want to be a normal girl. Just-"

His lips wouldn't allow hers to finish.


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bethesda, if I did, you could actually talk about things! I have taken a few liberties with this portion of the plotline FYI.

Song: _Crazy He Calls Me_ by Billie Holliday

" _I say I'll move the mountains, and I'll move the mountains if he wants them out of the way. Crazy he calls me, sure I'm crazy, crazy in love, I'd say."_

Jemma's Pipboy croons softly somewhere on the floor where it got tossed haphazardly in the night. An inhaler of Jet dangles between Hancock's fingers while another graces his cheek next to the pillow. His defining duds were strewn across the mottled wood floor.

She sipped her water softly by the window, alternating her gaze between the peace of Goodneighbor and the gentle rise and fall of her lover's chest.

 _I say I'll go through fire, and I'll go through fire. As he wants it, so it will be. Crazy he calls me, sure I'm crazy, crazy in love, you'll see._

Closing her eyes, feeling the cool sensation of water tickle her throat, Jemma could feel Hancock's rough hands around her waist as they had danced. As he spun her to song after song, she could see the joy in his pitch black eyes. He seemed lighter. She felt lighter.

 _Like the wind that shakes the bough, he moves me with a smile. The difficult I'll do right now, the impossible will take a little while_.

The vault dweller curled her legs under her chin, resting her cheek on her scarred knees. Seeing Goodneighbor in the night light was almost soothing. The glow from the neon lights of the Memory Den and the Hotel Rexford cast an eerie light on the few drifters wandering the street. Jemma sighed, closing her eyes in defeat. Soon, her night of living would end, and she would be forced to wake up to a cold, hard reality where she would have to decide the fate of humanity.

She would have to play God. A tear slid out from her clenched eyelids. No one should hold that sort of responsibility.

 _I say I'll care forever, and I mean forever._

She turned back towards Hancock, smiling halfheartedly at his frame taking up the majority of the bed. He was so good to her, so patient.

 _If I have to hold up the sky_

Carefully unfolding her body, Jemma tiptoed closer to the bed, pausing at the foot. Her ghoul seemed so peaceful, even in his occasional snorts.

 _Crazy, he calls me_

Boy, was she crazy alright. Crazy for him. Crazy about him. Crazy with him. Jemma turned her face away, suddenly feeling crestfallen. More tears stung at her lower lids, pushing past the barriers she attempted to erect.

 _Sure I'm crazy, crazy in love am I._

 **A/N: I know I said 2 chapters…but I lied. Only one more chapter. The next one will be longer and a bit more…angsty. You know how the end game goes. *goes to cry in a corner***


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: As usual, I do not own Bethesda, nor do I work for them. However, I still say they should have consulted more women when creating this game.**

* * *

When Hancock finally peeled his eyes open, the sun was painfully bright. Sitting up slowly, he stretched his stiff muscles, scrambling at any scrap of humanity left in his ghoulish form. As he gently shook his head from the cloud Jet left in the morning, a small smile crept across his face. "Good morning Sunshine," he crooned, turning to the figure bundled up beside him.

Only, there was no figure bundled up beside him.

In an instant, Hancock was wide awake. "Jemma?" he breathed. His hands searched the empty side of the bed. Turning his head, his eyes snaked over the room looking for her Pipboy, her boots, anything, to let him know she was there. Safe.

He couldn't lose her.

Empty. The room, littered with empty bottles, Mentats boxes, Jet inhalers, and scraps of clothing, felt cavernous to Hancock as he began to realize that Jemma was gone. Without a trace.

Rubbing his hands over his pocked head, the mayor reached for his distinctive layers and dressed, peeking down at the town of Goodneighbor in hopes of catching sight of her. Nothing. Growling to himself, Hancock pulled open his desk drawer for another inhaler of Jet. But when he brought it to his lips, he realized his fingers held a holotape. He stared at it for a moment, twirling it between his fingers as he analyzed its every groove. Curious at this strange appearance, he popped it into the terminal on his desk and waited for it to start.

 _John Hancock_

He froze at the sound of her voice. For a second, he forgot and leapt from his seat, searching for her form in the room. She seemed so close, so real. As he sunk back down, the tape continued.

 _There are so many stories I want to tell you. I could start with the dream I had two weeks ago where you and I snuck Grape Mentats into Preston's dinner and watched him experience being high for the first time._

Hancock chuckled, closing his eyes as he allowed her voice to penetrate his very soul.

 _I could tell you about the time I almost died by Deathclaw, or about my husband the day he proposed to me. It would be so nice to let the night live into day as we bare our souls, our stories, our…ourselves to each other._

Her breath hitched on the recording, as if choking on her words.

 _I'd love to tell you the story about how I went to the Institute and discovered my baby boy alive and well, and still a baby. I'd love to tell you how I woke up this morning and the world had sorted itself out, that I didn't have to make these decisions. I'd love to tell you the tale of how I had learned how to travel in time and we both could make better decisions._

He narrowed his already closed eyes. What decisions did she think had been wrong? He sat upright, refusing to separate his eyelids. Did she regret last night?

 _Hancock, we have a lifetime of stories in our arsenal to pull out at parties. But the story I most want to tell, I don't think I can. But…maybe I can try? No…no I-I…_

A shaky breath.

 _Hancock, I need you to trust me. I have a plan to get into the Institute and take it down from the inside. The Courser chip they installed in my Pipboy only allows one to relay in, so I can't take you with me. Now before you start to pace angrily-_

Hancock stopped, looking down at his feet. When did he get up again? When had he started pacing? Sheepish, he stands behind the chair, gripping its back in his ghoulish fingers.

 _-just know that there is a way for you to get in. Meet up with Preston at Bunker Hill, he will tell you the rest of the plan. Just trust me John, please. Can you do that for me?_

He could hear the tremor in her voice. He reached a hand towards the monitor, wishing it to be her face. She sniffled, taking a short, but shaky, breath.

 _I need you to be strong for me John. I can't do this on my own but if I know you are by my side…I think I can make this work. I…no…no…_

She paused for so long, he almost thought the tape had ended.

 _Go to Preston, he will fill you in. Be safe, Mayor Hancock._

The click of the holotape signified its true end.

Jerking the tape from the terminal, John spun and sprinted towards the door. He took the steps two at a time, stuffing his arms in his sleeves. "Fahrenheit!" He bellowed, his booted steps echoing in the old State House.

"What?" his bodyguard snarled, stationed dutifully at the bottom of the staircase. "What could you possibly want after a night of drugs and love?"

"How long has it been since you saw Jemma?" He begged, barely able to muster a glare at her comment.

Fahrenheit cocked her head, a quizzical look overtaking her usually snarking features. "I assumed she was still in bed. I haven't seen her since she came in last night, covered in blood, I might remind you." She gestured to the stains on his white ruffles.

Hancock felt pale. "How-how could you have not seen her?" He started to shove past her, reaching for the door.

She shrugged, concern beginning to reach her eyes. "I am not sure Mayor Hancock. Maybe her companion-" she stared after the ghoul barreling towards the town gates. Sliding her cigarette in between her lips again, she leaned back against the doorframe. She needed to cut down on the Jet if she was starting to miss important comings and goings in Hancock's home.

"Why Mayor Hancock, what's got you all in a tizzy this morning?" Daisy smirked, noting his crazed appearance.

"That man, that Preston whatsit, how long has it been since he left?"

"Need a new toy, do we?" Daisy teased. "He left just as I was walking up, maybe three or four hours ago. I think he was trying to sneak out before Kleo opened up shop." She shook her head, biting back a laugh.

"Thanks Daisy, I owe you one," Hancock muttered, turning on his heel and hightailing it out of Goodneighbor. He had to get to Bunker Hill.

* * *

By the time he arrived, it was obvious Preston was attempting to amass an army, although his measly group of Minutemen looked less than capable of taking down the Boogeyman of the Commonwealth. Out of breath, Hancock focused his remaining energy on staying upright as he stopped in front of the previous leader of the Minutemen.

"Preston, where is Jemma?"

Preston straightened and saluted, much to Hancock's confusion. "She told me to wait for you Mayor Hancock."

Hancock couldn't help the smile that was starting to spread over his taut lips. "She did, did she?"

Preston nodded. "She said that once you arrived, you would give us the details of our infiltration and we would begin."

Hancock's smile immediately turned into a frown. "No, that's not right," he argued. "She told me that you had all the details and I had to meet you here to learn our plan of attack." His heart began sinking, threatening to fill his stomach with impending sorrow.

The Minuteman matched Hancock's expression. "It may have been early when she woke me, but I remember very clearly that she said you had been debriefed on her idea."

John suddenly felt in another world. Preston's voice seemed to fade as the ghoul replayed Jemma's tape in his head, looking for something, anything, that could maybe be a clue.

 _I need you to be strong for me, John_.

His black eyes widened, and he turned back towards the Lieutenant. "It was a goodbye," he whispered.

"What?"

Hancock's weathered hands began shaking as he reached into his pocket and revealed Jemma's holotape. "I found this on my desk. I think…" he shook his head, only hearing her shaking breaths in his head and realizing, too late, how broken his relic really was. "I think she was telling me goodbye, without really saying it."

"Why would she tell you goodbye?" Preston seemed lost, yet afraid.

Hancock sank onto a bar stool. "Last night," he stated carefully, "she told me she wanted one night to just live, as if she didn't have the fate of humanity resting on her shoulders." The ghoul made eye contact with the soldier. "She wanted one night where she could forget that she had to decide which side lived, and which died." He shook his head. Balling his hand into a fist, he slammed the counter top with a force that made Old Man Stockton on the other side yelp in surprise. "And I think she decided."

Preston cranked his laser musket and motioned to his meager group of men. "We can't let her do this alone!" He exclaimed, seeking confirmation from Hancock.

"We don't even know what she's doing!" Hancock roared, feeling his blood boil. "She told me there was another way in but, conveniently, told me that was a part of the plan that you knew about. We don't even know how to get into the Institute, let alone how to help her!" He roared again, covering his face with his hands and letting out his own long, and shaky, breath. "She told me to trust her…"

The earthquake brought every soldier to their knees, even Preston. Hancock grunted in pain as his back collided with the counter top. The vendors and caravans of Bunker Hill shrieked as the shaking stopped, attempting to hold their valuables in place.

"What the hell was that?" a young Minuteman soldier squeaked, pushing himself off the ground with the butt of his laser musket.

"That was more than a few Missile Launchers!" one of the caravan guards interjected, kicking the holotape in Hancock's general direction. "That felt that a real life bomb went off!"

The citizens of Bunker Hill fell into a panic, ducking under beds and counters in anticipation of another nuclear apocalypse. The Minutemen staggered to their feet one by one, weapons at the ready.

But Hancock just stood and stared at the holotape now safely back in his hands. "Jemma?" he whispered, willing the tape to play a new message. He lifted his head, missing his tricorn hat. "No," he breathed before taking off to the monument in the middle of the settlement.

Curling around the ancient staircase, Hancock panted as he reached the top. Out stretched the arms to grab onto the wall. He could hear Preston clamoring behind him. He could see the smoke.

The smoke seemed to be filled with a fizzling fire, like someone had just poured water over the campsite. The giant mushroom cloud to the West seemed stale and stagnant, as if it would remain for years to come. It seemed a new monument. A monument of death.

Preston watched as Hancock's usually sarcastic demeanor lost all tinges of mirth and merriment. He listened as the ghoul let out a guttural shriek that could induce nightmares. He felt the fracture of the mayor's heart as he clung to the wall of the monument of Bunker Hill.

"JEMMA!"

* * *

 **Okay, so I lied. One more chapter! I promise. I'm a sucker for cliff hangers and a bit of drama, so I'm sorry for taking you on the ride of torment. Just wait, I hope you'll see it to be worth it!**


	4. Chapter 4

The staggering form struggling into Goodneighbor looked as if he had aged fifty years. What was left of his humanoid figure seemed at odds with the world around him, feet dragging and arms jerking. He looked broken.

He had run out of Jet at least two hours outside of Goodneighbor. The pain in his chest was too deep to bear without the numbing of his vices. As he careened through his town, he could hear familiar voices calling out to him. Daisy, a blur beside him, seemed overcome with fear. For him or for the explosion, he did not know. He did not care.

There was nothing to care about anymore.

Forcing his way into the State House, he brushed passed Fahrenheit, still holding a cigarette in between her fingers.

"Boss?" she began, attempting to clasp his arm.

"Leave me," he snarled, wrenching himself from her grasp. When she made another attempt to reach out, he growled ferociously, just like a feral. With an unspoken gasp screaming from her eyes, his bodyguard dropped her arms and took two steps back. She didn't stop staring. "Just…go…" he spat, continuing to fumble up the stairs.

One in the safety of his room, he slammed the doors shut, leaning his forehead against the wood. For a moment, he simply stood and breathed. For a moment, maybe he could pretend it had all been a dream. Maybe, she was still sound asleep.

A quick flicker of his eyes told him otherwise.

He yelled, violently slamming his head into the door. Pushing himself away, he stormed towards his file cabinet, chock full of Jet inhalers, Psycho syringes, and Mentats boxes. Tucked in the back, two needles of Calmex glinted, almost taunting the ghoul. Hancock, with shaky breath and weak fingers, slid Jemma's holotape out of his pocket and back into the terminal. At the first note of her voice, he plunged Psycho into his thigh and roared with pain and laughter.

 _John Hancock_

He could feel the drugs invading his bloodstream. "Jemma, Jemma, Jemma," he uttered, biting back chuckles. "Stubborn to the last eh?" He sent his desk chair careening across the office, its collision with the crumbling wall imminent. "You were always a stubborn woman."

He winced as he kicked the desk. His wounds from the Raiders after Bunker Hill were reentering the front of his mind. Shaking his head, he took a sharp breath of Jet, refusing to both acknowledge his pain or ignore it. It would simply be, just like the ache of his heart.

As her prerecorded voice continued to speak, he laughed again. "You couldn't even tell me to my face, huh sister? Didn't even give me a chance to help you. Didn't give me a chance to say it." Down came his fists with a bang, a sharp tingle shooting into his shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears back to where they came from. He couldn't cry. He was the mayor of Goodneighbor for God's sake, he couldn't cry.

"Go ahead then."

His eyes shot open. Staring at the terminal in front of him, he shook his head fiercely. Her tape was still playing, yes. Surely he imagined her words. Swallowing, he placed his hands around the monitor, as if attempting to peer into a soul. "Jemma? Are you…in…" he couldn't say it. It sounded too crazy.

"God, if I was an assassin sent to knock you off you'd be up a creek without a flipping paddle buddy."

Hancock whirled on the spot. There, before him, in all her magnificent beauty, was his vault dweller. Her beautiful skin stained with blood, yet again, and her left hand bandaged, but she was there. Really?

He took a tentative step, unconsciously wincing. "Are you…real?" He breathed. He could feel the drugs in his system dwindling, taking his high with them. On habit, he brought the inhaler to his lips again. If this was a vision from his vices, he would leave this world surrounded in their empty carcasses.

She gave him a sad smile. "You never could resist your Jet, could you Hancock?" Reaching out, she placed a cold hand on his forearm, gently leading him to the couch. As they sank onto the cushions together, he lifted his ghoulish hand to her smoothskin cheek.

"Is it really you Jemma?"

She leaned into his touch, exhaling slowly. "Yes."

Hancock dropped the inhaler and framed her face in his hands, meeting her lips with his. The kiss, though chaste, was long and passionate. The two of them, sharing their conglomerate emotions with each other through this simple form of physical contact. "What…why…how…you left?"

Jemma took his hands in hers and lowered them to her lap.

"I thought you were dead."

"I did too."

He looked at her quizzically. With a gently swipe of her thumb, she brushed away the tears he didn't realize had escaped. "What do you mean? Could you…start over?" He swallowed away the lump in his throat.

She sighed, dropping his hands and standing slowly. "I was ready to die, to end it all. While Shaun may not have been raised by me, he was still my son. And my son was the scourge of the Commonwealth, a common enemy to all. I couldn't ask any of my friends to join me because I knew that no matter who I brought, they wouldn't agree with the other. Even if Paladin Danse and the Brotherhood backed me on my return to the Institute to bring it down, they wouldn't stop there. Same with the Railroad. Preston, his devotion to me would have been his undoing…the Minutemen aren't strong enough to go against literal trained war machines." She paused, taking a deep breath before turning around to face her lover again. "So I went by myself. If I ended it all there, then, then…"

"Then no one else's fate would be at your hands," he finished.

She nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "And I was ready. It was easy to place the detonator on their reactor. I am a trusted leader in the Institute because of Shaun. I placed the bomb, and went to my son's room to see if maybe, just maybe, I could convince him that all of this was madness and it needed to end. But when I got there…" a single sob escaped, "he was hooked to so many machines he hardly looked human. His cancer had finally gotten the better of him."

She perched on the coffee table, wringing her fingers together. "You should have seen him, John. Pale, gaunt, and completely weak, but his voice was still so strong. His passion for his work, for his 'children', would not be shaken. He was a very perceptive man, he knew I had not returned for a social call, or even to pledge my fidelity to his work. He knew I had come there to destroy his life's work. Damn right I did."

She stood again. Jemma's hands moved to the wounds on her arms, picking at the abnormalities on her flesh. "I tried to talk him into some sort of sense, I tried to tell him it didn't need to end this way. I tried to tell him that I was willing to die with it all. It had all started with me and it would all end, with me. Like it should be." She caught John reaching for his inhaler of drugs and in a flash, she chucked it across the room. "And do you know what he did?" She shrieked, her eyes widening. Hancock shook his head quickly. "He told me he wanted to spend his last few moments alone and turned away from me! To the end, any affection he had ever possessed was nonexistent. He would not be reasoned with!"

Taking a deep breath, Jemma paced in a quick circle around the couch before ending by Hancock's desk. "I had resigned myself that this was it, the end. I held the activator in my hands. I was ready to push it, when I heard him call out."

"Him?" Hancock inquired, turning towards his lover.

"The boy Shaun had created, the boy of himself, the boy he used to experiment 'emotional stimuli', with me as the target. The boy from Kellogg's memories. He, he called out to me. 'Mom' he had cried." Her lower lip trembled. She began to gnaw on it, as if attempting to hold herself together with her teeth. "And then suddenly, he was there. He darted into Shaun's room with fear and hope blended into his eyes. 'Mom, I'm so glad I found you! I thought I had lost you again!' I couldn't even begin to understand. He had been terrified of me when we first met, and I had not seen him since. My son refused to acknowledge the situation, even when I began shaking him, demanding a response."

Jemma took a few deep breaths and began walking towards Hancock's bedroom. "That's when the panic began. That's when it became known across the whole of the Institute that a bomb had been placed on the nuclear reactor and evacuation needed to take place. The boy grabbed my hand and pulled, begging me to come with him. 'I can't lose you again!' he had sobbed."

She opened the door to reveal a sleeping, strawberry blond, boy. The same one she had described from Kellogg's memories. Hancock took a sharp breath as he could see, even in slumber, the boy's similarities to his mother. Jemma sniffed, choking back on a sob. Weakly holding up a holotape, she continued, "Shaun gave him this, for me. He…he hoped I would be willing to give this boy a new chance of life. While Shaun knew of our differences and disagreements, he wished for this synth child to be given every comfort of a mother that he had never known." Almost in a trance, she twirled the tape between her hands, her focus only on its orange and white shape. "He programmed the boy to believe he is my son. Gone are the memories of our first disastrous meeting. Gone is any knowledge that he is a synth. Gone is the truth that Shaun…Father…is my true son."

She slipped back into the office quickly, as if attempting to escape yet again. "We relayed here from the Institute, and I destroyed it. I killed…my son…so many scientists…who knows how many synths. But I couldn't leave him. I…you may call me selfish, but I couldn't bear the idea to leave this boy, who believes he is my long-lost son, to the care of anyone else. Not after I fought for so long to find him." Her voice finished shattering as her resolve crumbled, emotions winning her inner battle. "Oh Hancock…" she turned to the ghoul, her ghoul, tears spilling down her cheeks.

In a single motion, Hancock spun her into his chest, holding his warrior, his fighter, his sunshine. Stroking her hair, he hummed softly, keeping her upright as she sobbed. "I'm here," he whispered, tangling his fingers in her blond locks. "I'm here Sunshine. I ain't going nowhere. You, Jemma, you're the best thing I got." He planted a soft kiss on the crown of her head. "And I'm going to be here for that boy. I am a far cry from your husband, from the stories you've told," he smiled softly, "but that kid sleeping in our bed will never want for love, attention, or adventure."

"Oh Hancock," his blond angel moaned.

"Mom?"

The ghoul and the dweller detached their lips and arms and turned to the young boy pushing himself off the bed. "Is it safe? Are we safe now, Mom?"

Jemma smiled, the first real smile Hancock had seen grace her lips. "Yes, Shaun. We are safe now. And most importantly," she took Hancock's hand as she walked towards the synth. "We are all together, finally." She wrapped her other arm around Shaun's scrawny shoulders and smacked a big kiss on his head.

Shaun looked between his mother and the mayor, as if attempting to connect the dots. "Mom, I know you said that my father is dead, but does this mean he is my new father?"

Jemma wasn't ready for that question yet. But Hancock was.

"You betcha kid!" Hancock pronounced, reaching down and wrapping both arms around Shaun. "You absolutely, positively can count on that."

Smiling, Jemma leaned over the strawberry blond head in between them, and planted a longing, loving kiss on his ghoulish lips. "Forever," she confirmed, winking at Hancock.


End file.
